


Car Maintenance

by BurningTea



Series: Season 11 fic [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel's Car, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they find the Continental, Dean fixes it up. He didn't know it would confuse Cas so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExpatGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/gifts).



Cas has hardly smiled since getting back from the warehouse. Dean keeps catching the guy looking at him, eyes soft and full of something Dean doesn’t have the calm to handle, but there’s pain there as well as affection. Dean thinks it’s affection. Something, anyway. 

The bruises on Dean’s face are gone by the time they find the Continental, even more battered than it was when Cas had it, but seeing Sam drive it through the garage doors at the bunker did get a quirk of the lips. Dean knows. He was watching. 

Now, Cas is somewhere looking up some notes or correcting a book or whatever it is he does all day in the library. Sam’s gone into town to buy supplies, even though Dean’s pretty sure his brother more wants some time to himself after the stress of curing Dean from the Mark, himself from that zombie-darkness (something Sam only admitted to reluctantly) and Cas from the spell. Dean let him go. Everyone needs some space at times. 

Besides, Dean’s using the time to work on the car. 

The Impala sits, sleekly black, in the corner of Dean’s vision, but he keeps his focus on the dull gold beneath his hands. He’s already fixed and tuned and changed everything he can in the time he’s got, and now he’s finishing up the wax and shine. Whatever he thinks of Cas’ car, it’s good to get it fixed up. 

“Dean?”

Dean almost knocks his head on the wing-mirror, catching himself and straightening slowly. His lower back aches. 

“Come on, Cas,” he says, more gruffly than he intended. “I thought we were over the whole sneaking up on me thing.”

Cas’ face creases in confusion, something it never used to do.

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” he says from his spot partway across the garage, looking grumpy and slightly lost without his overcoat or suit jacket. The tie is half undone. “I walked in here and said your name. That’s not-”

“Sorry,” Dean says. “Look, you just made me jump, okay? I didn’t mean you were really…” 

He stops and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. Why is this so hard? Cas is here, he’s healed, for the first time in what feels like years they’re both themselves and free from any weird mind-fucking control. At least, as far as Dean knows. They should be able to do this, to just be around each other without tension.

Opening his eyes, he moves away from the Continental, tossing the cloth aside and holding his hands to the sides.

“I cleaned up your car,” he says.

Again, Cas looks confused.

“Oh,” he says. He shifts his gaze to the car, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s… Thank-you.”

That sounds uncertain, like Cas is reading a line he’s been given but doesn’t really get. Dean frowns and looks back at his work. 

“You’re not happy with it?”

“No. No, of course I’m happy. It’s good.” 

Cas isn’t looking at Dean. He isn’t really looking at the car anymore, either. He’s doing that thing where he looks off to the side and slightly down, avoiding something he isn’t happy about or can’t control. Dean wonders if Cas realizes how much he reveals these days, or if getting used to his vessel, to his body, means he lets more slip without knowing.

“Something’s bugging you,” Dean says flatly. “Spit it out, Cas. It’s not good to keep things in.”

At that, Cas’ mouth drops open. He meets Dean’s eyes with an expression that says he’s just heard something ludicrous. 

“You keep everything in,” Cas points out. “If it’s not good, why do you do it?”

“Because I’m a crappy example of a human, that’s why,” Dean says, but he smirks as he says it. Old habits die hard.

Cas tilts his head, his eyes narrowed, and now Dean wants Cas to look away. He shifts on his feet, keeping the smirk on his face because he’s never been one to throw away a weapon. Cas doesn’t look impressed.

“I don’t think you’re crappy,” he says after a while. 

No-one should be able to say that in such a sincere tone of voice. 

“Yeah, well, you haven’t had a shit-load of examples to work with,” Dean says. “You’ve pretty much hung around with me and Sam, and I’m awesome compared to him.”

Yet again, Cas fails to follow him into taking this as a joke. 

“I’ve had plenty of examples,” Cas says. “Perhaps you’re forgetting all the people I met and worked with and served when I was human. Then again, I suppose you didn’t see most of them.”

And that’s the thing about Cas:: he probably doesn’t even mean that to sound pointed. It’s just a fact, a reminder to himself that Dean doesn’t know who Cas met. It’s likely not even meant to stab at Dean. Even so, it reminds Dean that he sent Cas out into the cold, friendless, and left him to fend for himself. At least this time they managed to help him. Dean’s fingers twitch, wanting to find that blanket to wrap him up in. Maybe if he takes another swipe at the car Cas might be happier about it.

“Dean,” Cas says, this time from much closer. He’s still got that appearing unexpectedly thing down, wings or no wings. He looks up at Dean with such a loaded expression that it’s almost physical. “You are not a crappy person. Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.”

“Easier said than done,” Dean says. “Besides, maybe you just like crappy stuff. Your car, me.”

“My car is not crappy,” Cas says, “and neither are you. If my car was crappy, why would you have spent so many hours fixing it up?”

This is a weird conversation to be having with Cas’ face only inches from Dean’s, but it’s not like they’ve ever been good at normal.

“Because you like it,” Dean says.

“I like you, too, but you wouldn’t let me fix you up,” Cas says, as though that’s at all the same thing. 

“What? No, that… No. Look, your car didn’t deserve to be all dirty and messed up, and that dick left it in a state I didn’t want you facing. Did you even know the break pads were worn through? I don’t want to hear you’ve gone off the road or into the back of a truck. Car’s are important. You’ve got to keep them running right.”

“I like my car, Dean,” Cas says, “but it isn’t a case of a car deserving to be in any condition. It’s just a car. You aren’t. You didn’t deserve to be hurting when I could have fixed it.”

“Is that why…? Do you…? Cas, is that why you aren’t happy I’ve worked on your car? Because I wouldn’t let you work on me?” Which sounds wrong the moment the words are out of his mouth, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

Cas’ lips thin, pressing together for a moment before he speaks.

“You are frequently frustrating,” he says, “and never more so than when you refuse to let anyone care for you. Or,” and he glances away, “when you believe I’m not capable of taking care of you. I…I assume you thought I couldn’t manage my car myself.”

It takes Dean more seconds than it should, but when understanding dawns he finds himself reaching for Cas, gripping his shoulders and ducking his head to catch the angel’s eyes. Wary eyes, it turns out. He’s astounded, as he is every time this occurs to him, by how much this celestial creature values his opinion. It makes no sense, not when Dean can’t even work out what Cas needs half the time.

“Hey, I did not do this because I think you can’t take care of your own damn car,” he says, even though he’s got no idea where Cas would have picked up the knowledge he’d need to get the heap into shape, and even though he didn’t see much evidence of Cas becoming a car-expert while he was working on the Continental. “That’s not why. I did it because I wanted to do something for you, okay?”

Cas’ voice is more or less a modulated breath when he answers.

“For me?” At Dean’s nod, he goes on, still sounding like he doesn’t get it. “Why? You and Sam, you already made Rowena lift the spell, you found my car, Sam went and fetched it. You’ve let me stay here. Why would you need to do anything else?”

Dean flexes his fingers, straightening them and curling them round Cas’ shoulders again, like he’s trying to get a better grip. He supposes he is. He needs to get a decent grip on something in this conversation.

“Because you don’t just do the basics. Because, sometimes, maybe I just want to do something for you. I mean, you didn’t give up on me, not that whole time I was losing myself to the Mark.” He stops, swallows, starts again. “Hell, Cas, you said you’d watch me murder the world.”

Cas’ eyes cloud with something that makes Dean rush on, even though that familiar feeling of pressure is building in his throat, the one that clogs up his words and makes him reach for a beer.

“You said you’d stick around after everyone else was gone. And I almost killed you. And then Sam left you with Rowena and she almost killed you. Cleaning up your car isn’t much, but I wanted to do something.”

“So, this is to say thank-you? Sorry?”

The way he squints at Dean, as though this is yet another puzzle he’ll never be able to fully solve, is almost comical. It would be, if it wasn’t so worrying that having something nice done for him was such a puzzle. 

“Both? Neither? Can’t I just do something nice for you because I want to, Cas?”

As Cas looks to be thinking that over, Dean rubs one hand along Cas’ shoulder and down his arm, curving his fingers round the guy’s forearm near his wrist. He imagines he can feel the pulse under the skin, even though his hand isn’t in the right place and he isn’t sure, even now, if Cas has a pulse when he isn’t human.

“Is it really so weird that someone might do something for you just to be nice?”

Cas shakes his head, but his jaw is set.

“You really do find it weird, don’t you? I mean, yeah, I feel like crap over what’s gone down lately, but this? Sorting out your car? That’s not an apology, not really. It’s because I wanted to, I don’t know, to show you I like having you around.”

At that, Cas’ eyes widen, and, okay, that really shouldn’t be such a shock.

“That’s very…” he says, sounding shaken. He stops and licks his lips, and Dean clears his throat. Cas takes a moment to stare at Dean. “That’s very good of you, Dean. And, yes, it is…weird, as you say. My brothers and sisters, the angels, they generally only want me when I’m useful to them. Duty is…duty is more important than being…nice.”

This isn’t the first time Cas has said something similar, something that’s suggested the angels see family, or whatever they are to each other, as duty and obligation and not in any way as love. It occurs to Dean that maybe Cas has no idea how much it hurts every time he flies away. Or drives. Maybe Cas thinks it’s normal to take himself off when he’s not being any active use to the people who love him. 

“It’s not about duty,” Dean says. This time, he moves his other hand up until it cradles Cas’ cheek, his fingers working into Cas’ hair. Cas does nothing to stop him. “This is about caring for someone. I just wanted to do something for you to show I care. That’s it. And, yeah, I feel awful, I do, about a whole load of crap, but the caring thing is stronger. You get that, right?”

He can see from Cas’ expression that he doesn’t get it. For a guy who can spout shit about fancy equations and philosophical conundrums at the drop of a hat, he’s really slow on the uptake when it comes to a family where he isn’t only wanted to complete tasks and pushed away the minutes he isn’t useful.

Then again, Dean’s been doing some thinking since he ditched the Mark, and perhaps it isn’t just Cas’ angelic family that’s been guilty of that.

“Okay, well, if this is breaking news to you, we’ve just gotta make sure you get used to it,” Dean says. “Why don’t I show you what I’ve done to your car.”

Cas nods, the strands of his hair brushing Dean’s fingers as he moves, and Dean makes himself pull his hands away so he can talk through what he’s fixed, how he’s stocked the trunk with everything Cas will need when he’s out on his own. If there’s a blanket tucked into the trunk, a few spare phones stocked in a bag, and credit cards so Dean knows Cas will be able to find somewhere to stay if his grace fails him, then, well, that’s just common sense. Dean manages not to think too much about how it felt to hold Cas again, how it stilled something in him that’s been jangling since he saw Cas collapse, unmoving, to the floor of that warehouse. 

It takes a while, and it’s only when the garage doors open that Dean looks up and realizes how long he’s been telling Cas all about the Continental. Sam parks the car he took and climbs out, smiling faintly at the sight that greets him.

“Doing some work on that?” Sam asks, his amusement clear. “If the two of you are done, I bought everything we need for a steak dinner. You’re having some, too, Cas. No arguments. You can taste the molecules or something.”

Sam carries the bags past and disappears in to the living space while Dean shoots Cas a look. Cas shrugs.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“You let me buy you a hot-dog last week,” Dean says. “And before that you ate that taco. Did they taste like molecules?”

Cas shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“No,” he says. “No, they tasted like caring.”


End file.
